


Ferelden Dueling Etiquette (For Those Without a Mabari)

by isheth_zenunim



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Carver just wants to fight, Tumblr Prompt, the duel for Josie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 01:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9635567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isheth_zenunim/pseuds/isheth_zenunim
Summary: Carverly asked:  Inquisitor Carver showing up to the duel for Josie's hand with his greatsword while the noble guy has like, a fencing foil, and tries to blag his way out of it but Carver's already pulling off his shirt like sQUARE UP BITCH YOU ASKED FOR THIS





	

Val Royeaux: the beating heart of Orlais, home to the Chantry and its flock, and frequent epicenter for pretentious noble bullshit.

Carver had heeded Cullen’s advice for once and forgone the standard Templar skirt; instead, he opted for something a bit more plate and a little less unprepared for questing fingers. Bloody Orlesians, he thought with a mental sneer. He was here for a purpose and did not need the distraction of pinches to his backside, despite his calculation that this fight would be over in less than a minute.

There had been no sign of Josephine, a blessing as he pushed through the throngs to the main square. With any luck, she’d never even know he was here.

“YOU.”

Well, shit. Carver elbowed his way to the front of the crowd, trying to locate the source of the angry bellow. A trim young man stepped forward, surrounded by an enamored crowd of sycophants and assorted womenfolk. With tangible fury, he strode up to the younger Hawke, sizing up the Inquisitor with an unaffected glare. Carver returned the look blandly. "You must be Lord Otter.“

“OTRANTO. Lord Otranto of Antiva. The rightfully betrothed to Lady Montilyet. Songs of your exploits have spread to my city, Inquisitor.” Some of the bluster left the smaller man as he bowed with an elegant flourish and looked expectantly at Carver.

However, the cue was missed entirely. The Inquisitor instead crossed his arms over his plated chest. "Piss off– Really? Songs? I hope they’re bawdy.“ Carver stood silently, staring off at nothing, blinking at the warm summer sky. "What rhymes with ‘rifts’? 'Tits’? Noooo–”

Lord Otranto gestured to his lackeys, beckoning them to bring the rapiers he had transported. He held the hilt of one out to Carver, breaking the other man from his attempts to rhyme “Inquisition” with lady parts. "A duel. For our lady’s hand.“

"Pffft. Sod that.” In a swift motion, the Inquisitor drew the impressively large and not-at-all compensating broadsword and brandished it. 

This was apparently not the expected response. "I’m the wounded party here, ser. You cannot simply draw the largest weapon in Val Royeaux and DUEL. There are rules. Even a Fereldan peasant born in a sty should understand basic decency and fairness–“

"Wait. No, you’re right. Wasn’t there some rule about slapping the other person first? I swear there was a rule on it–” Carver shifted his grip on the massive sword to one hand and tugged the metal-bound gauntlet off awkwardly with his teeth. "Hlld nnn. ‘vv gut n glvvv 'ight hrrr.“ Once it was successfully freed with a bit of oral finesse, he gauged the gauntlet in his hand. The steel alone was weighty, but with the bluntly clawed tips, it was a weapon in its own right. He glanced up at the Antivan lord with a calculating look, watching as the angry, blotchy red in his cheeks paled swiftly. "Hold still.”

Lord Otranto backed away and raised his own rapier. "You’re utterly mad!“

"And you’re an arseface.”

“What? Are you twelve? SHUT UP.” Patience finally snapped, Lord Otranto lunged forward, aiming the rapier for Carver’s face. While his form was impeccable, he did not count on the larger man to have any agility, especially in plate. The rapier pierced the air by Carver’s head, nearly scoring a blow certain to take an eye. "You are unworthy of Lady Montilyet’s affections! You are crude, utterly tactless, a brute…“ Another lunge but this one was cut short by the rude intrusion of a heavy gauntlet crunching against Otranto’s cheek.

Carver tugged the metal glove back on while his opponent was dazed. He had half a mind to just pull his armor off and beat the other man senseless the old fashioned way. With any luck, Otranto didn’t have siblings of his own and was oblivious to the dirty fighting tactics of younger brothers. Speaking of family… "Yeah, yeah. You’re not saying anything I haven’t heard from my mother. 'You’re such a disappointment, Carver. You should have been more like your sister. Sweet Bethany would have never lost her smalls at a formal event. Why couldn’t you be more like her?’ Blah, blah, blah.” The glove gave a quiet squeak, leather protesting as he flexed his hand. Satisfied, he raised his broadsword and assumed his own fighting stance.

Civilized duels were not uncommon within Val Royeaux; however, this one promised to be most uncivil, thus the crowd pressed closer, preventing escape. Neither party looked ready to forfeit. There was only a bloodied, bewildered nobleman and the Herald of Andraste, glaring at each other from opposite ends.

“CARVER FRANCIS HAWKE. PUT. IT. DOWN.”

The instinctual wince in response was immediate and the sword clattered to the ground. This was the second time someone had yelled at him this afternoon alone. Carver experienced the fear that could only be put into little boys at the use of their middle name. He stared down at the paved street, face red with humiliation. He didn’t even dare look up as Josephine jogged delicately between the two men.

“What are you doing?”

Carver’s gaze never wavered from the ground. "… nothing.“

"I am sorry, Inquisitor. What was that?” Her grip was none too gentle as she snagged his chin and dragged it upwards, forcing him to look at her. Josephine looked as upset as he’d ever seen her, but all that amounted to was a few stray hairs come loose and a slight flush to her cheeks.

Wordlessly chastised with her expression, the Inquisitor shrugged. "Trying to defend your honor. You said you didn’t want to marry him. So I was going to make him rethink things.“

Josephine released his chin abruptly and continued to frown at the downtrodden Herald. "By cutting him in half?”

“Well–”

She sighed, silencing the undoubtedly terrible response. "Foolish question, I understand. Did you not think I could handle this myself?“ The advisor turned her steely gaze to Otranto as he subtly attempted to slide away unseen, blending unsuccessfully in his vibrant attire. When she caught his eyes, he froze. "And you, Lord Otranto. Were you looking to gain my hand or more popularity? My Antivan contacts have said rather unflattering things about you.”

Otranto looked to Carver as if he expected assistance, but received only a scowl in response. "I– well, you see, Lady Montilyet, I–“

With one withering look, Josephine sent him scurrying. Satisfied with his departure and the dispersing crowd, she returned her attention to the younger Hawke, pouting silently next to her. "You see? Ahh. THIS is what happens when you listen to the Commander and dear Leliana in the war room. Perhaps next time you’ll realize diplomacy is keener than a blade. And maybe you’ll consider sending THEIR agents out to pick elfroot for days for a change.”


End file.
